


twisting to the sun and the moon

by goldfyshie927



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Camcor, Canon Related, Canon Universe, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Gideon the Ninth Spoilers (Locked Tomb Trilogy), Harrow the Ninth Spoilers (Locked Tomb Trilogy), Hurt/Comfort, M but will probably become E at some point...., Mini, Mini-Fic, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, Non-Canon Relationship, POV Camilla Hect, Pining, Rare Pairings, Short, camillabeth - Freeform, short-fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29974629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldfyshie927/pseuds/goldfyshie927
Summary: turns out, shared trauma is a powerful motivator when it comes to facing your feelings about your childhood crush,orwhen unrequited feelings aren't so unrequited after all.--post Gideon the Ninthspoilers if you haven't finished both books, so be cautious
Relationships: Camilla Hect & Coronabeth Tridentarius, Camilla Hect/Coronabeth Tridentarius
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

Camilla came to, lying in a pool of her own blood, her body pressed against the stone wall that she’d collapsed against only to find that she was alone in the ruins of Canaan House. She listened for a moment. The only sounds she heard were the occasional creaking of the old house, stone falling and settling, and her own ragged breathing. She gingerly moved her shoulder, then regretted it, as the tear in her flesh burned and the steady trickle of blood increased with her movement. Wiping her dusty hand against her stomach, Camilla pressed her palm to the gaping wound and struggled to her feet, leaning heavily against the wall. Gideon’s body lay nearby. Ianthe and Harrowhark were nowhere to be seen. Dulcinea - no, Cythera - was also missing. She could only assume the Cohort shuttles had come and taken them away. She dropped her hand from her shoulder long enough to pick up her knives and put them back in the sheaths still strapped to her back. The added weight pulled at her shoulder and she grimaced, doing her best to ignore the pain. 

Camilla took a deep breath to steady herself, which hurt, and let it out slowly through her lips. First things first: she needed to gather what she could of Palamedes. Then she needed to find out if anyone else had survived. She moved slowly, picking her way over to Gideon’s body. Her golden eyes were still open. Camilla gently closed them with the palm of her hand, a lurch of grief sweeping through her. In the end, Gideon had proven to be the best of them. Gideon’s two hander was gone; she wondered if Harrowhark had taken it with her. Camilla thought that if she’d been in the Ninth necromancer’s place, she certainly would have. Moving towards the center of the room, she skirted the massive hole Cytherea’s construct had made and wound her way towards the wing where the necromancers and their cavaliers had stayed. She moved slowly, her shoulder aching with each step, a small trail of blood droplets giving her away. Every so often, Camilla stopped to listen, ensuring she was not being followed, either by humans or another monstrous construct. 

Dulcinea’s room was decimated. Camilla felt a rush of unexpected emotion as she looked around at the chaos. She pressed her lips together and forced herself to think through what she needed to do. _Collect as many pieces as you can, protect them with your life, don’t let anyone know you still have him._ The bones were just bones, not Palamedes. There was no need to be sentimental about it. She knelt and dug around in the rubble, finding bits and pieces of bone, a painstaking process. After a couple of hours of digging, pretending her body was actually working with, not against her, Camilla stopped and leaned back on her heels to catch her breath. She’d done the best she could and was fairly confident that there were no pieces left behind. She could go through what she’d collected and piece together the skull later. She swept everything she’d collected onto a torn piece of curtain and lifted it with her good arm, trying to keep her weight as balanced as possible. Thankfully, her room, the one she’d shared with Palamedes, was nearby, so she went there to deposit everything into a leather duffle which she hefted onto her good shoulder. She couldn’t carry it long, taking breaks to set it down and rest as she made her way back toward the atrium and main chamber. 

Once she finally arrived, Camilla sat down on a large slab of stone and took a moment to figure out her next moves. Just then, she heard a small sound come from behind her. She stood quickly, drawing one of her blades, and looked to where the sound had come from. Coronabeth came stumbling into the room from a side hall. Camilla let out a breath of relief and sheathed her blade. Coronabeth was a sorry but welcome sight to Camilla’s weary eyes: her hair was a tangle of golden curls, her face drawn and pale, the only color her vibrant violet eyes and two bright red spots on her cheeks. Coronabeth looked past Camilla, at the scene of horror and destruction, everything that was left of the awful fight between Cythera the First and the rest of their lot. Coronabeth’s eyes swept the room, taking in the gore, the pools of blood and viscera and bone scattered everywhere. Then she fell to her knees and vomited. Camilla couldn’t blame her. It was god awful; even being an active part of the horrors that had occurred here hadn’t dulled the shock of seeing the aftermath. 

“Tridentarius,” Camilla said, her voice a sharp rasp. The adrenaline had slowed in her body and now she wavered on her feet, swaying slightly. 

Coronabeth didn’t move where she knelt, even at the sound of her name. She looked around the room again with blank eyes, wide and vacant, and Camilla realized she would need to go to Coronabeth. She almost wished for the thrill of danger and the accompanying adrenaline then, because every step that she took felt like she was being stabbed through again and she had to keep a hand pressed to her wound, hoping she didn’t bleed out before they came up with some sort of plan. Even as Camilla stopped directly in front of Coronabeth, blood trickling from her shoulder and onto the floor, it was as if she was invisible to her. She knelt, shards of bone and rock digging into her knees and reached out to gingerly touch Coronabeth’s shoulder. Then, when her fingers met Coronabeth’s skin through the thin silk of her ruined blouse, Coronabeth finally looked at her. 

“Camilla,” she said in a voice so small and quavering that Camilla’s protective instincts kicked in. “Where is everyone?”

Camilla did her best to explain what had happened, all the events that Coronabeth had missed. Coronabeth wept openly when Camilla told her of Gideon’s sacrifice. But when she got to the part about Ianthe, Coronabeth silently crumbled, curling in on herself, her arms wrapped so tightly around her middle that Camilla wondered if it hurt. Her heartbreak was palpable, clear as day on her face. Tears streamed down her cheeks and Camilla stopped and waited, giving her some time to process. The pressing need to make plans, however, did not go away and after she waited as long as she could, she finally spoke again. 

“Third, I need you to listen to me,” Camilla said. “We need to figure out how to get off this planet. I’m not going to be much good right now.” She gestured to her bad arm. “So I need you with me.” 

Coronabeth looked at her through her tears, a question on her face. Camilla stood on shaky legs and looked around. She spotted Gideon’s abandoned rapier and moved slowly towards it. It was half buried in dust and bone and she kicked it from the rubble and up to her off hand, then presented it to Coronabeth. Camilla knew she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She was tall and strong and well practiced with a blade. (Though Naberius was loathe for anyone to find out, Coronabeth had told Camilla once in the strictest confidence that she was positive she could best her in a duel and she’d said it with such conviction that Camilla had half a mind to believe her.) So when Coronabeth protested about taking the blade - “I-I can’t. I don’t know how.” - Camilla simply reminded her. 

“Nonsense. You told me yourself that you could beat me,” Camilla said with a half smile. “This is just in case. I can’t use both hands. And I’ve lost a lot of blood.” 

It was then that Coronabeth had seemed to comprehend just how bad it was for Camilla. She took her in, her eyes trailing the waterfall stain of blood that decorated the front and back of Camilla’s gray uniform. “Oh,” she said, raising her fingers to touch the back of Camilla’s hand where it was still pressed against her shoulder, futilely attempting to staunch the slow flow of blood. Coronabeth gently eased Camilla’s hand away from the wound - Camilla tried to ignore just how soft her fingers were - and studied it for a moment. Then she looked up into Camilla’s face and nodded. “I can do this.” 

Camilla nodded in response. Coronabeth left then, leaving Camilla alone with the destruction. She sat heavily on the edge of the ruined fountain, her head spinning, and tried not to pass out. Her fingers were caked in blood, her nails stained with it, and she wiped her hand against her trousers, knowing full well it would not come off. Several minutes passed and Camilla began to worry that perhaps the horrors had not ceased and something had happened to Coronabeth. Just when she decided to go after her, one hand pressed to the stone to try and heave herself to her feet, Coronabeth came around the corner, a couple of towels and a bowl of water in her hands.

She treated Camilla as best she could, helping to tear her sleeve off and assess the damage, then sponged as much blood off her skin as possible. Camilla noticed her skin had turned a sickly olive, pallid beneath the undertones. It was mildly worrying; things weren’t looking good for her. But Coronabeth forced a smile as she pressed a clean towel to both sides of the wound, then wrapped a strip of cloth around Camilla’s shoulder. Then she reached up and brushed Camilla’s sweat slicked bangs from her forehead and kissed it gently. Camilla’s already weak heart lurched, her pulse racing unhelpfully. 

“It’s already looking much better,” Coronabeth said. 

Camilla hadn’t the heart to call her bluff. Wound treated, she did her best to wash the blood from her hand and Coronabeth helped her scrub it from between her fingers, then moved to sit beside her on the fountain. They’d sat in dazed silence for a few moments after that, trying to figure out what was next. 

“We could try the radio,” Coronabeth suggested. 

Camilla shook her head. “It was destroyed by Teacher.” 

“Are you sure?”

Camilla wasn’t positive. A lot had happened over the last several hours and she hadn’t thought to check the radio again. It was worth a shot. 

“Can’t hurt to check.” 

Coronabeth stood and helped Camilla to her feet. Camilla held the black rapier out to her again, jiggling it lightly in her hand in a silent message: _Take the damn thing_. Coronabeth finally did, their hands brushing as she wrapped her fingers around the pommel. Camilla ignored that too. Together, they walked slowly in the direction of the radio room, taking precautions in the dim, dusty light. The house was as silent as ever. 

As they came through the doorway, Coronabeth bravely taking the lead, they heard a quiet noise, a groan. Camilla moved towards it. Judith still sat in her chair, wounded, but she was breathing, alive. Coronabeth gasped and dropped her rapier. It clattered to the ground loudly. Camilla flinched at the sound.

“Judy,” Coronabeth said as she crouched and touched her hand gently. “You’re going to be okay.” 

Judith was as pale as death, but her chest indeed rose and fell with her shallow breaths. She seemed completely incoherent, not reacting to Coronabeth’s touch or the sounds around her. Camilla brushed Coronabeth’s shoulder. “I’m going to check on the radio,” she said. “Then we’ll figure out what to do next.” 

It was as bad as she thought. The radio was completely destroyed; it wouldn’t even turn on at this point. Camilla fought the urge to kick it. It wasn’t worth the tiny amounts of energy she had left to fight an inanimate object, no matter how frustrated she was feeling. With a deep breath she turned and walked back to Coronabeth and Judith. 

“Nothing.” 

Coronabeth looked at the radio, then back to Camilla and nodded that she understood.

“I need to speak with you,” Camilla said. 

Coronabeth gently touched Judith’s shoulder - “I’ll be right back.” - then stood and walked with Camilla towards the entrance. 

“We can’t move her,” Camilla said.

Coronabeth shook her head. “We can’t leave her.” 

“She’s made peace with her decision. We may very well just be causing her more harm to try and move her.” 

Coronabeth looked back at Judith, her face strained with sadness. “But, we’ve known her since we were kids.” 

Camilla knew Coronabeth’s sentimentality ran deep and she’d already lost so much. She didn’t want to hurt her more by pointing out how futile her hopes were. “We’ll leave her here for now so we don’t cause her more damage. When we come up with a solution, we can come back for her.”

That seemed to soothe Coronabeth’s fears a bit. She nodded, then went back to Judith’s side. She was still unresponsive as Coronabeth held her hand and whispered, “We’ll be back for you soon.”

They made their way back to the atrium and sat on the same stone where Camilla had left her bag. Camilla knew in her heart there was no way she could tell Coronabeth the truth - they would not be going back for Judith. There had been no way to call for help - the ruined radio made sure of that. And none of them were familiar with this planet anyway, so making a go of it by foot was pointless and even then, where would they go? They’d known their own shuttles had all been sent away after their arrival so really their options were nil. The hopelessness of their situation seemed to suck the air from the room. Just as Camilla had resigned herself to their slow and lonely deaths on this godforsaken planet and was about to approach Coronabeth with the idea, they heard the buzz of distant shuttles. 

Coronabeth froze, suddenly terribly frightened so Camilla silently took her hand and laced their fingers together, a calming anchor to remind Coronabeth that she was not alone. “Do you think it’s the Cohort?” Coronabeth asked, her voice tight. Camilla shrugged her good shoulder. She had no idea who it could be. It seemed odd that the Cohort would have left them all behind only to come back later. Her mouth pulled into a flat line, her lips pressed together. Her body went into defense mode, despite her wound, and she pulled one of her knives free, standing straight and stock still, waiting. 

The shuttles arrived and soldiers emerged to assess the chaos. As they’d surrounded them with their guns lifted, Coronabeth raised the rapier and stepped slightly ahead of Camilla, their hands still laced together. Camilla sheathed her knife and lifted her hand to them, then calmly told them as much as she could about what had happened before promptly passing out. She relied on Coronabeth’s narrative to fill in the blanks from there. 

The soldiers were the Blood of Eden, a sort of rebellion against God and his necromantic ways. Coronabeth told Camilla later that they’d hauled the two of them onto their shuttle, swept the rest of Canaan house for survivors - they’d only found Judith and Gideon’s body which Coronabeth had thankfully insisted they bring with them - and then had flown them all to a small planet of little consequence where they housed people they weren’t sure what to do with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this started out in one direction for me and has morphed into something else so bear with me while I tell the story that wants to be told. 
> 
> and, as always, come scream with me about the locked tomb over on [tumblr](https://goldfyshie927.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

Two months passed in the blink of an eye. Camilla and Coronabeth met often with the Blood of Eden leadership, proving their usefulness through their knowledge of the necromancers and other houses, and the Blood of Eden had been getting them up to speed on their purpose and missions. They weren’t yet using them on these missions, but it felt good to Camilla to know that perhaps, in the very near future, they would put her to work. Judith was sticking strong to her Cohort ways - still loyal as all hell to God and whatever His great and wondrous plan was - and was frequently kept in a separate area of the small base, at least until they could make a breakthrough with her. Camilla wanted to trust that she was being treated properly but wasn’t sure if she fully believed anything the Blood of Eden had to tell her yet. She visited her when she could, trying to convince her to play nice with the Blood of Eden in the hopes that they’d be able to go on missions together when the time came. It felt important to stick together, the three of them, some of the last surviving members of the Canaan House disaster. 

In the meantime, she worked with a doctor to heal her shoulder and trained with Coronabeth to rehabilitate her main hand. Doing something felt good, meaningful, even if she knew it wasn’t helping anyone else but herself. And it kept her busy. When she wasn’t busy she was worried. Worried that they’d find Palamedes’s skull. Worried that she wouldn’t be able to find Harrowhark again. Worried that Coronabeth still wasn’t sleeping at night. Coronabeth had insisted that they share a very small room with even smaller cots and so they’d cram themselves into it every night and Camilla would pretend to sleep while Coronabeth cried softly into her pillow, whispering things that were mostly unintelligible but occasionally sounded like  _ Ianthe _ or  _ my sister _ . 

Camilla could relate; her own heart was broken. So many lives lost and for what? An imperfect, shallow version of Lyctorhood, its process horrible and monstrous and a veritable mutant of what it could be. Palamedes had been horrified to find out how it worked and had promptly set about discovering any other way to do it. They hadn’t told anyone, hadn’t had the chance to, and now it was too late. The deed was done. Ianthe was a Lyctor by choice, Harrow by force, and Palamedes was trapped in his own skull until Camilla could find Harrow again. Without her, all the work Palamedes had done would be for nothing. Harrow was the only one who could confirm Palamedes was still here and help Camilla figure out what was next. 

But though she ached to make progress on that front, Camilla knew that, for now at least, she was all Coronabeth had. So she stayed, she talked and trained and ate with her. She helped feed Coronabeth when her grief grew so strong she could barely stand up. She stood with her when Coronabeth moved to stand at the edge of the green field on the perimeter of the small base they were housed in and stared into the horizon, her eyes empty and her mouth turned down. Coronabeth seemed half a person now that Ianthe had left her, unable to find her footing again. And that hurt Camilla’s heart almost as much as losing Palamedes had. She’d never seen Coronabeth like this before, all her vibrance dulled, like an eclipsed star. 


	3. Chapter 3

Today, Camilla was watching Coronabeth move through some sparring drills on her own, practicing with one of Camilla’s knives. The weight was unfamiliar to her; she could tell by Coronabeth’s hesitation. They’d been going through the drills for a couple of hours and both of them were hot and frustrated. 

“Step into it,” Camilla coached her. “You can trust yourself.”

Coronabeth nearly threw the knife to the ground then. “I can’t. I don’t know how to do that,” she said. These were the moments, few and far between, where Coronabeth’s former glory shone. Camilla caught them every now and then, especially when Coronabeth was feeling angry or thwarted. 

“You can.” 

“I can’t trust anyone,” Coronabeth retorted. 

That stung, more than it should. 

Still, Camilla had no patience for this today. She strode towards Coronabeth and held out her hand. Coronabeth handed her the knife, then stalked away without a second glance. Camilla watched her leave and felt tired. She wasn’t equipped for this; she should be out fighting, doing something,  _ anything _ . She stayed in the small courtyard and practiced, mainly moving through the motions, letting her muscle memory kick in while her brain tried to make sense of her frustration, until she was sweating and panting with exertion. By then, evening was beginning to set in and she decided to pack it up and call it a day. 

Camilla went inside, making a stop at the small cafeteria to grab something easy to eat, then ate it standing restlessly near a large window that looked out onto the fields. She thought Coronabeth might have ended up there, but the field was empty. Taking a long drink from the bottle of water she’d picked up, Camilla pondered what to do. She couldn’t be everything for Coronabeth. Where did her duty and familiarity overlap? She needed to untangle the threads and figure out how to make this into something beneficial to the both of them. Perhaps her desperation to  _ do something  _ had done Coronabeth a disservice. Maybe Camilla wasn’t the answer, wasn’t actually capable of helping Coronabeth heal and become who she needed to be again. She decided to think about it some more in the shower and then sleep on it.

What she hadn’t been expecting was to see Coronabeth, already in the shower room, sitting naked and wet on the cold tiles, crying helplessly. Camilla stopped short when she saw her, clutching her towel and a spare change of clothes. It was a large room with several showerheads on the walls - militaristic, utilitarian. No one else was here, for which Camilla was glad. Coronabeth didn’t need an audience for this. 

“Tridentarius,” Camilla said softly as she walked across the tile, setting most of her things down on a bench before crouching in front of Coronabeth, only her towel in hand. She couldn’t see any other personal belongings in the room and wondered where Coronabeth’s towel or clothes were.

Coronabeth looked up at Camilla through the stream of water pouring over her with a face devoid of emotion, despite her tears, and shivered. Camilla reached out and let a bit of the water sluice across her palm. It was ice cold. 

“Third,” Camilla chided quietly. She reached up and turned the handle, switching the water off, then held her towel out to Coronabeth. “You’re going to freeze to death like this.” 

That was definitely the wrong thing to say. Coronabeth burst into fresh tears. “Good,” was all she managed to get out between sobs. 

Camilla felt her eyebrows knit together. Once again, she was out of her depth, wholly unsure of how to help Coronabeth. But she’d do the best she could. She unfolded the soft towel and gently placed it around Coronabeth’s shoulders, lifting the heavy, wet locks of her hair out of the way. Coronabeth’s knees and arms were in the way of tucking it around her, but at least she’d be a little warmer now. 

“I’m sorry, Third,” Camilla said. And she meant it. “Let’s get you dressed.”

Coronabeth stood without being asked, the towel still draped around her shoulders. Beyond that, she just stood, blankly crying, so Camilla reached up and pulled it down around her ribs - doing her best not to look too long or hard at Coronabeth’s golden skin or tight musculature - and knotted it around her chest. She carefully squeezed a bit of water from Coronabeth’s tangled hair, then moved to her things on the bench. She knew it wouldn’t fit Coronabeth properly - her loose pants would be too short, her shirt a bit cropped - but she didn’t want anyone else to see Coronabeth like this, deeply sad and half naked. It wasn’t right.

“Will you put these on?” she asked, holding the folded clothes out to her. “You can change into your own clothes when we get back to our room.”

Coronabeth looked at them, sniffled and wiped her face with the back of her hand, and took the bundle from Camilla. Camilla turned around, giving Coronabeth privacy and watched the door for anyone who might step through. She heard the shift and rustle of the fabric as Coronabeth pulled the clothes on. Then she stepped from behind Camilla, her eyes trained at the ground, and stood silently as if waiting for more instructions.

Camilla’s heart thudded in her chest and she felt a faint pang of guilt at the reaction she was having to Coronabeth’s appearance. She had never been so undone in all the time they’d known one another. Her hair was already soaking the thin fabric of her shirt on her shoulders and back and the pants fit her more snugly than they did Camilla. She’d been right about the height difference as well. But Coronabeth didn’t seem to mind that nothing fit quite right. She was still just as beautiful as ever, even with swollen, red rimmed eyes and a slightly runny nose, her toes curling under on the hard tile. Camilla took the wet towel from Coronabeth and put a hand on her elbow, as if to steer her towards their room. 

“Come on, Third. Let’s go to bed.”

The halls were quiet as they found their way back. Camilla unlocked their door and pushed it open, stepping back to let Coronabeth inside. She’d assumed that Coronabeth would change into something that fit properly the moment they got inside but instead, she sat on her small cot, pulling her long legs underneath herself, and stared at her hands in her lap. Camilla wanted to change. She wasn’t exactly shy about nudity. Bodies are bodies. But she didn’t want to make Coronabeth uncomfortable and until that point, they’d given each other plenty of room and space to change on their own. She dug another pair of soft pants and a tank top from her duffle, then moved towards the door with the intent to change in the bathroom. 

“Where are you going?” Coronabeth asked, her voice tinged with panic. 

Camilla turned and looked at her, holding up the clothes. “Just to change.” 

“I won’t look.” Coronabeth laid down and turned to face the wall and Camilla stood awkwardly for a moment, then began to undress. The cool air raised goosebumps on her skin as she pulled the shirt and pants from her body, dropping them to the floor. The room was silent except for Coronabeth’s breath hitching occasionally, the aftermath of her crying jag. Camilla dressed quickly, feeling weirdly vulnerable being naked with Coronabeth only a few feet away. 

“Okay,” Camilla said as she picked up her clothes and laid them on the back of a chair that had been crammed into one corner and hung her towel on the hook. When she turned back around, Coronabeth had rolled onto her other side and was watching her with tired eyes, her lips turned down slightly. Camilla looked back, unsure of what to do next. That seemed to be a constant theme whenever she was with Coronabeth these days.

“Are you ready to sleep?” she finally asked. 

Coronabeth just shrugged, her eyes tracking Camilla as she took the three steps towards the switch and flipped it, plunging them into semi-darkness. It took a moment for Camilla’s eyes to adjust and then she made her way to her cot. Grey light from the outside lights slanted in through the small window on their wall. She could hardly see Coronabeth but she was aware of her, aware of her long legs curled up to her chest, how she rested her cheek against her hands, of the damp spots on her shoulders and pillow, of the way her wet hair smelled as she’d gently squeezed the water from it. Camilla leaned back onto her cot, the creak unbearably loud, as if it would somehow alert Coronabeth to the path her thoughts had taken. She hoped maybe Coronabeth had fallen asleep. 

Camilla folded her hands on her stomach and tried to steady her breathing, welcoming the calm before sleep. She imagined being back on the Sixth, in her own familiar bed, comfortable, exhausted from training and going through theorems with Palamedes. She closed her eyes and shifted a little, stretching her legs out, relishing in the complaint of her slightly sore muscles. Her breathing steadied and she felt herself leaning right up against the edge of sleep when she heard a shuddering breath come from Coronabeth’s cot. She didn’t say anything, just listened. Maybe she’d just imagined it. It came again a few seconds later, a pathetic inhalation. 

“Third,” Camilla said. She turned her head to look across the way at Coronabeth through the darkness. A sliver of light cut across her face, lighting a single violet eye. Coronabeth was still watching her, her hands tucked underneath her cheek. 

“Why don’t you ever call me by my name?” Coronabeth asked. Her voice sounded choked. Camilla hardly knew what to do with the question. 

She really didn’t have an answer. For as long as she could remember, they’d all referred to each other by title, house, or last name. There was no rhyme or reason for it, as far as she knew. It was just how things were done. “I suppose because none of us have ever called each other by our given names,” Camilla eventually said. 

“I wish you would,” Coronabeth said. 

Her statement became a moment, there in the dark, when Camilla realized that she didn’t know what to do with her feelings about Coronabeth and didn’t know if she even  _ wanted _ to have feelings about Coronabeth. It made her feel nervous, like a caged bird. She felt like springing from her cot and going for a long run, all previous relaxation gone. She wondered if Coronabeth would be offended if she did that, then decided that she probably would, as anyone in their right mind would be. Coronabeth asking, very quietly, for Camilla to call her by name felt monumental in a way she didn’t have the right words for. She didn’t answer, didn’t speak again for the rest of the night. Coronabeth eventually turned away again and Camilla lay awake until dawn, listening to the sounds of her quiet crying, wondering if there was even anything she could do to help. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why but I'm so drawn to the idea of Camilla only referring to Coronabeth by title or last name. It kills me in a way I can't quite articulate. She's so reserved and I just want to unbutton her, a little, as a treat.


End file.
